


Despite Everything, It's Still You

by lovibf



Series: Now And Forever [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Character Death, Crying, Death, Drowning, Hurt No Comfort, Memory Loss, Mild Blood, PLS THOSE TAGS is this fandom OKAY??, Ranboo Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Self-Harm, Song Lyrics, Song fic, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Undertale References, i simply love ranboo i'm so sorry i didn't want this either, like a lot of them sorry, no beta we die like schlatt, ranboo literally kills himself of course there's no comfort, this was done all in one sitting and has been chilling in my google docs for a month, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29255223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovibf/pseuds/lovibf
Summary: How had they let him live for so long? How had they let him survive for so long? Why hadn’t they exiled him or killed him? Had they loved him? Had they really? Or was he only remembering what Dream told him to remember?But he remembers being a good person. Does he? He remembers being a good person. No he doesn’t. He’s in agony. That’s all he knows. He wants to die. He doesn’t want to live like this anymore.They must’ve kept him alive because they knew that he was living every day in a rotting hell- suffering while trying to hide everything he’s done. Had they? He couldn't remember. He couldn’t remember.He’s a monster. They all know it. No matter how many beautiful moments he’d shared with his friends, he deserves to die. He must go by his own hand- there’s no grace in asking someone else to do it for you.
Relationships: Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo, they're just friends but its related to the plot i swear
Series: Now And Forever [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2188059
Comments: 4
Kudos: 109





	Despite Everything, It's Still You

**Author's Note:**

> AKA the fic where it's like 3k words about ranboo committing suicide. my bad my hand slipped
> 
> massive tw for suicide, self harm, intrusive thoughts, stuff like that. ranboo kills himself so. there u go. 
> 
> yessir we projecting on to ranboo's character lolz. i wrote this after ranboo's stream on 01/05/2021 and didn't post it,,,, and then that mf used fallen down as his outro music. mf. i'm not complaining but yknow.
> 
> was listening to a slowed down version of fallen down from the undertale soundtrack on youtube and i saw a comment that said "ok but like anyone see a resemblance between "despite everything, it's still you" and ranboos character on the dream smp, like the person in his head when he's in the panic room is constantly reminding him that despite everything, everything being, what he remembers due to his poor memory, "it's still you" his conscious is reminding him that even though he remembers being a good person, he still helped dream and he still blew up the community house etc. idk but ranboos lore and character of have had memory, is just so intriguing" and it didn't make a ton of sense but i fuckin RAN WITH IT and here we are. thank you to that person on youtube lolz
> 
> i wasn't fully aware of all lore when i wrote this and i didn't bother to beta, so there might be some holes. stick with me here 
> 
> no one writes about ranboo ever. expect more. thanks.
> 
> best of luck.

No matter how many times he tells himself he’s a good person, he can’t. He can’t remember. It feels as if there is simply a blank space in his mind- he barely remembers who his friends are. He pulls out his memory book again- Tommy, Techno, Tubbo, Fundy, Niki, Phil. _Tommy Techno Tubbo Fundy Niki Phil. Tommy Techno Tubbo Fundy Niki Phil._ He repeats it like a prayer- he can’t forget them. Not this time. Not this time. Not this time. _Not this time._

_Despite everything, it’s still you._

Hot and cold. Too much and not enough. It's too quiet, and yet it's so loud. He can't breathe, but he still feels his chest rising and falling. Time has slowed, and it's going so fast. Too fast. How long has he been here? He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. 

He curls in harder himself, fingers gripping at his pants, head stuffed in his arms, shivering, shaking. He may be tall but he’s trying to hide as best as he can right now. He can’t let himself be seen. Not like this. Not like _this._ Dream’s voice echoes through his mind, and he screams. He screams so loud it feels like it’s ripping his throat to shreds, and yet no sound comes out. He knows he’s crying- he can feel the hot, wet tears streaming down his cheeks and staining his pants. How could he let himself get like this? After all this time… He thought he’d done the right thing. He’d protected his friends- or had he? Did he protect them? Did he do all the horrible things Dream said he did?

_Despite everything, it’s still you._

Whether or not he did everything that Dream said he did, he still betrayed his friends. He betrayed everyone by not choosing a side. He should’ve picked. He should’ve made a choice. He should’ve stayed loyal. _He should’ve stayed loyal._

His hands grip tighter at his legs, fingernails digging so hard into his skin he knows that he’s bleeding. It feels good. It feels grounding. He digs his nails in harder, trying to escape Dream’s voice in his head. It rang in his ears, so painfully loud, a constant reminder of how he had fucked up. He’d fucked up, yet he didn’t know how. What had he done wrong? What did he do? What did he do? What the fuck did he do? _What did he do wrong?_ He couldn’t remember, and that’s what scared him most.

_Despite everything, it’s still you._

There was no way Dream was right. There was no way he blew up the community house- there was no way he burned George’s house. He’d loved George’s house. It was so cute. But did he love it? Hadn’t he imagined it burning to the ground since day one? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember. _He couldn’t remember._

Dream’s voice smashed through his ears, scraping knives along his spine and shooting bullets through his ears. He had to be dying. How was Dream’s voice so _loud?_ Dream haunted every one of his waking seconds, he was always there. A constant reminder of how he’d messed up. A reminder of how terrible he was.

_“If I can’t rely on the memory book, then what can I rely on?”_

_“I don’t know. Not yourself. I’m not even real."_

_“What do you mean you’re not real?!”_

He screamed again, so loud and yet so quiet. His pants were soaked with tears beneath where his face was pressed into them- he’d never cried this hard before. Ever. And he cried a lot. Why couldn’t he speak? Why couldn’t he scream? The only thing he knew anymore that despite everything, he’s still a bad person. He still fucked up. Even though the only snatches of memory he has is of him being good, him being a good person, he knows that he did everything wrong. He blew up the community house. He betrayed Tubbo. He burned George’s house and he fucked up. He didn’t pick a side. Despite everything he remembers _(remembers)_ \- laughing at Fundy’s shitty jokes, watching the sun go down late in the middle of the summer, carrying Tubbo around on his back like a little brother- he knows he’s bad. He knows he’s a bad person. He was so kind, so good to his friends, so kind. So bad. He wants this to end. He wants to die. 

He needs to die.

_Despite everything, it’s still you._

His nails tear through the fabric of his pants. His crown falls off. He’s bleeding, he knows it. He leans back against the wall, feeling his back complain after being curled up and hunched over for so long, tears still dripping down his cheeks, snot drying on his face. He very quietly takes off his jacket and shirt, loosening his tie with it, moving with small, careful motions, as if someone is watching him, listening in on the words he’s been screaming at himself, ripping his own throat out. 

Someone _is_ watching him. Dream. It’s always Dream. 

He scrapes his nails _hard_ down his arms, feeling his skin raise and watching as dark blood wells up in tiny beads from the marks. He digs a little harder. It feels so good. He does it again. And again and again. He deserves this. He deserves this pain. He deserves it after everything he did. He rakes his nails down his arms over and over and over, lines criss-crossing and blood starting to drip. The repetition feels good. The familiar burning of the scratches and cuts starts to settle into his veins. He feels the fire spreading out from his shoulders, down his arms and torso, and has the urge to rip his skin off with his nails. He wants to flay himself alive, pull his own guts out, rip himself apart from the inside out. 

Dream is right. Dream is right. Dream is right. Dream is right. He is a monster. Dream is right. He’s always right. How could he have doubted him? Of course Dream was right. He was a monster, and a traitor, and a pathetic coward. He didn’t deserve anything he’d ever had. Dream was right. Dream _is_ right. Dream is right.

_Despite everything, it’s still you._

The memories of golden laughter and warm nights become shadowed in his mind. There’s a black haze on them now- he could barely see them to begin with, the “memories” only being snatches of the moment they came from. No matter what he wants to think, the voice in his ear- _Dream’s_ voice- reminds him that he’s not good. He’s not kind or nice or loyal or a friend. He’s not anyone’s friend anymore. He doesn’t deserve him. He’s filthy and horrible and disgusting. He’s a creacher that should _burn._ He needs to die. He really needs to die. He can't do this anymore.

How had they let him live for so long? How had they let him survive for so long? Why hadn’t they exiled him or killed him? _They loved me. Even though my soul is tainted and ugly._ Had they loved him? Had they really? Or was he only remembering what Dream told him to remember?

But he remembers being a good person. _Does he?_ He remembers being a good person. _No he doesn’t._ He’s in agony. That’s all he knows. He wants to die. He doesn’t want to live like this anymore.

They must’ve kept him alive because they knew that he was living every day in a rotting hell- suffering while trying to hide everything he’s done. Had they? He couldn't remember. He couldn’t remember. 

_Despite everything, it’s still you._

He’s a monster. They all know it. No matter how many beautiful moments he’d shared with his friends, he deserves to die. He must go by his own hand- there’s no grace in asking someone else to do it for you.

He tries to think of a fitting way to go. He could burn himself alive, that might work. He tried to imagine the looks of glee on his friends _(friends?_ He didn’t know anymore) faces when they found his charred corpse. He couldn’t even think of it.

What does he hate the most? Water. Water water _water_ . Water and eye contact. So, he decides that it’s only fitting if he drowns himself. It could take them _years_ to find his body, and by that point he might even just be bones. Long bones and nothing else. They might not even know it’s him. Or they might never find him- they might think that he finally ran away, finally left, so they could all be at peace again.

_Despite everything, it’s still you._

He stood up. He felt the blood trickle down his arms, tears drying on his cheeks, and he picked his jacket, crown and shirt off the floor. He smoothed his clothes out, ignoring the pain blossoming in his shoulders. It felt too good. 

In a daze, he left his panic room and struggled his way to the shore. He’d found the prettiest beach in L’Manburg- he wanted to go out gracefully. He may be a traitor, a pathetic, disgusting traitor, but at least the last thing he’d see before he died was the sun rising over the trees.

He loved the sun. It’d been the only constant thing in his life. It rose and set every day, gracing their village with its beautiful golden light. It woke him in the morning with a soft smile, burned his skin at midday when he’s not wearing his jacket, and brought him peace in the evening when it set. It’s early morning right now- he’d been up all night sobbing and screaming at himself, so wrapped up in his own voices that he hadn’t even noticed the time passing. The sun is just peaking over the trees, the warm golden light just beginning to emerge. It hits his heart _hard_ knowing that this will be the last sunrise he’ll ever see. His chest aches as he steps over the rocks bordering the beach- he knows he’s been here before, watched the sunrise here before, but he can’t remember when. 

He decided to drop his jacket and tie on the sand- maybe if they didn’t find his body, at least they’d have something to hang on the wall and pretend that they missed him. He kicked off his shoes, leaving all but his shirt, pants and socks behind. He places his crown very carefully on top of the pile of his clothes- he hopes they find this. He’d changed his mind now- he hopes they find his clothes. He hopes they find his clothes, and in a gleeful excitement, they search for his body, only to find it scraped and battered against the rocky cliff not too far away. He wants them to know it’s him. He wants them to be beyond happy- have a funeral for him only for show, but deep down they’re all so grateful that he’d finally killed himself. 

He’d left all of his materials in the panic room. If they ever found it- well, they’d know it was his. He’d let his pets go a while ago, he thought. He vaguely remembered Fundy commenting on that, but he couldn’t remember what had been said. 

He was ankles deep in the water without even realizing. It was so fucking cold. He briefly reconsidered his decision- but then he remembered (he _remembered!)_ everything Dream had said. He remembered sitting on the floor of the panic room, silently sobbing and praying that for one second, he would feel okay. He didn’t even know who he was praying to, but the soft words of a prayer had fallen from his lips, almost without his own doing. He was gone, already out of this body. This was it. The final decision he’d ever make. And it felt _so right._ So painfully _fitting_ that he takes himself out.

He’d had that little voice in the back of his head for a while, the voice telling him to kill himself- telling him that he’ll never be able to repair what he’d done. 

He’s waist deep now, arms still wrapped over his chest. He’s numb. He can’t feel anything. All he knows is that Dream’s voice is in the back of his head, taunting him for everything he’s done. He feels static in his brain, and he can barely see straight. He lets his hands fall from his body, hitting the water softly. He continues walking forward, feeling the soft sand and rocks beneath his feet, the swell of the waves pushing him back, almost as if the water was telling him not to go. Maybe the water wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe it could’ve been a friend, had he not-

Had he not fucked up. He’d lost everything. He had nothing left but himself, and he fucking hated that. He wished he had more. He wants more, so desperately. But he can’t- he doesn’t deserve it. 

_Despite everything, it’s still you._

It repeats like a mantra in the back of his head. He’s shoulder deep now. The water is frigid against his chest. It feels like he’s caving in on himself. He’s not okay. But- now that his death is rapidly approaching, and now he knows he’s going by his own hands- he’s okay. A calm peace settles over him as his chin hits the water. He’s taking long, shallow breaths now. He turns and faces the shore- taking one last, long look at the place he calls home. _Used_ to call home. There’s nothing there for him anymore. 

He stays looking towards his former home as he backs into the water. Soon, he’s tipping his face up to breathe. _Not for much longer,_ Dream’s voice in his head snarls. _Not breathing for much longer. Can’t wait to see the looks of pure joy on the other’s faces when they find out what you’ve done. They’ll be so happy to see you go._

He kicks his feet off the ground, and he’s swimming now. He barely knows how to swim, never having learned, but some primal instinct kicks in, and he’s treading water. The water’s definitely 15 feet deep now, but it’s not enough. He turns away from the shore and swims further out, pushing his body as hard as possible to get himself as far away from the shore as possible. 

His lungs burn from the cold. His arms are weak and he can feel himself giving up. The sun has almost fully risen now. He slows his breath and turns around to face the shore, to face his home, to face the sun.

_Despite everything, it’s still you._

He remembers _(!)_ a night when him and Tubbo and Fundy stayed up all night, playing chess, laughing and drinking and talking, falling all over each other and giggling, eventually stumbling out of his house to watch the sun rise. He remembers the look of awe and peace on his friend’s faces, remembers so clearly how they’d looked at him, smiled at him. Of course now, in his final moments, his memory came back to him. He wracked through his brain, trying to conjure up another moment like that one. He couldn’t find any. He couldn’t think. As far as his mind was concerned, that was the only moment he’d ever experienced. 

They’d all collapsed into his bed after the sun had come up, far too tired to walk back to their houses. He’d woken up alone that afternoon- he remembered that. He _remembered._ He remembered how Tubbo had scrawled him a quick note- he’d carried that note with him everywhere after that night. 

_Ranboo-_

_Had a great time with you and Fundy last night. Love you forever, brother._

He doesn’t know where that note is now. That doesn’t matter. Nothing like that matters anymore. His body stills, his breath slows to an almost stop. He stops moving his arms, keeping himself up with only his legs. His clothes are so heavy now, dragging him down. The water is almost pitch black, even under the beautiful, aching morning sun. He runs his wet hands through his hair. He can't even see his clothes piled on the shore anymore, but he almost thinks he can see the sun glinting off his crown. Maybe he’s imagining it. It’s too far away for him to be sure. He closes his eyes, imagining Tubbo’s laughter, Dream’s dumb wheezes, Fundy's cackling, George rolling his eyes, Phil sitting back in his chair, and himself leaning up against Niki’s legs, feeling her softly twisting his too-long hair into loose braids. There’s another memory that suddenly came back. That night was good- one of the last good nights they had before everything actually went to shit. 

Of course now his memory comes back. He opens his eyes, exhausted. Exhausted and drained. He’s too tired to swim back to the shore now, and even if he did, he couldn't explain this to Tubbo. How was he supposed to tell his President- his _brother-_ that he tried to kill himself, but couldn’t do it because he was a _coward._ _A coward._ Pathetic. 

He remembers how Tubbo’s voice sounds. How they used to laugh together. His brother. The last conversation they had. He remembers it all now. He’s too exhausted to push it away, letting himself remember his best friend’s voice, one last time.

_“Ranboo, you’re a good man.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Tomorrow… tomorrow, things might go sour. I’m going to need to trust you. I do. I trust you to the end of the world. I know that as long as you do what’s in your heart… I believe you can do the right thing.”_

The scrapes on his arms burn. The cold waves are splashing around his face, and something primal within him is panicking, but he forces that down. It’s his time. It’s his time to go. 

_Despite everything, it’s still you._

He closes his eyes, breathes in deep- _his last breath-_ as he lets the salty cold water sting his cheeks, and opens his eyes again. He sees the bright colours of the sunrise painting the sky. Red and gold and purple and pink and beautiful. He wants to swim back to shore. His chest aches. 

He salutes L’Manburg.

He breaths out.

And with his arm still raised, he lets himself sink. He lets all his muscles go and he lets himself sink. He doesn’t even close his eyes. He lets the salty water burn them. 

His vision goes fuzzy and he loses sight of the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> hi i'm so sorry. twt is loviibf. come scream at me there or in the comments idc. i know this isn't gonna do well because sfw fics NEVER do well EVER, let alone in this fandom.
> 
> let me know if you caught all the song lyric references + undertale references there was a lot
> 
> also ahaha what if i make an alt ending to this? one with a happy ending? lowkey wanna do that now. keep an eye out for that. 
> 
> peace and love to you all. gonna try to push out 1, maybe 2 fics a month minimum. starting now :] love u all sm pls gimme kudos pls some spare kudos pls... maybe a comment... thank u


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